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She was having a hard time breathing, especially with the scent of everything that made up Rian filling her head. He glanced down at her lips, licked his own, and exhaled roughly.
“I could fuck you right now, just close the door behind us, rip this dress off of you, and plunge my cock into your pussy.”
Her heartbeat filled her head, and she grew dizzy.
“I like that you’re not all skin and bones. I like that I have more to hold onto when I’m deep inside of your cunt.”
Her mouth went dry, and she parted her lips, not knowing how to respond.
“Put the dress on, and stop thinking you’re so fucking unattractive.” He snatched her wrist in one of his big, powerful hands, and put her open palm right over his straining erection. He leaned toward her face again, pushed her hair aside, and said in her ear, “If I didn’t find you so damn attractive, I wouldn’t get this hard just looking at you.”
The stubble on his cheek scraped along hers, and she turned her head slightly to look at him.
“You make me hard, make me nearly burst through my pants, and make me want to fuck you right here without caring who sees.”
Sorcha exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath.
“Now, try on the dress, and if you like it, take it off, put your regular clothes back on, and then we will head back to the apartment.”
“You don’t want to see if you like it?”
He grinned. “I like whatever you wear,” he dropped his voice to a husky whisper, “but I like it best when you wear nothing at all.”
And then her heart did that damn fluttering thing, because one minute he was this very, very charming man, and the next he was the very devil sent to tempt her.
He handed her the dress and turned away. But in all honesty she was too aroused probably to say anything anyway. She was wet between her thighs, uncomfortably so, and arguing with Rian proved pointless. Sorcha shut the door, put the new dress on, and instantly felt better. It was loose, delicate, and feminine.
The black material hinted at sexuality, but the lace gently overlapping the hem of her bust was also innocent in nature. It also made sure to keep all of her bits and pieces hidden properly. Under the bust was a thin line of crystals, and she knew it wouldn’t be the cheap ones she could get at the local craft store. Hell, the price tag alone was more than what her apartment cost for three months, and that was saying something given the prices of living in this city.
After she was in her tunic blouse, leggings, and ballet flats again, she took the dress up to the front counter, saw the sales girl still eyeing Rian, and refrained from gritting her teeth. This stab of jealousy filled her, but it was so misplaced that Sorcha felt ridiculous and childish for even having it.
“Hi there,” she said to the young woman, but instead of a greeting in return, Sorcha got a roll of the eyes. It was almost laughable the disgust that came from the saleswoman. Maybe this was what she had looked like at first when her jealousy had reared its head? Sorcha chose to ignore the clear brush-off, and Rian was in his own little world with whatever message he had just gotten on his phone, that he hadn’t even noticed the silent exchange.
“Here is your total, Mr. Hartford,” the blonde said in a very singsong voice that made Sorcha sick. This woman was as fake as they came, right down to her Botox injected forehead and lips, implanted breasts, and tummy tucked stomach.
Rian grabbed his Amex Black card, handed it to her, but was still reading whatever was on his phone.
“Everything okay?” Sorcha didn’t care why she even wanted to know what caused those frown lines on his forehead. Maybe she was just so used to making sure his day ran smoothly during the week that seeing him clearly upset about something was a little unsettling?
He glanced at her, shoved his phone in his pocket, and nodded. “Everything’s fine.” He took the card back and the dress now in a plastic bag, and took her arm to lead her out of the store. Once they were out of the shop he took her toward the black Mercedes waiting by the curb. She climbed in, he got in behind her, and the driver shut the door gently.
She stared at him as the car pulled away from the curb and into heavy New York traffic. He seemed tense, uncomfortable even. “Rian, I’ve worked for you long enough to know when you’re pissed about something. And even if you weren’t doing the silent treatment, you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.”
